constance | He can also dance.

It must be tough to be the only energetic soul in a house of sloths. For example. I am sitting here in front of my computer, and Rachel is on the desk, purring against my right forearm as I type. During x, where x = the variable amount of time it takes Leory to move thirty times, from the desk's kneespace to the tile hearth to the middle of the floor to the stack of papers on the floor waiting to be shredded, Rachel and I haven't moved enough to set the motion detector light in the corner flashing. How frustrating to want nothing more than to dash around or socialize when the only person you have any contact with just wants to walk sedately, or worse, to curl up quietly in a chair with a book until bedtime.

We are a mismatched set, Leory and I, and we've taken some time getting used to each other; but now when I think about the pre-Leory days when the house might have been abandoned for all the activity going on inside it, I'm not wistful, I'm just glad to have him around, a dog to cuddle and brush and take on long walks, which are all things Flannery submitted to rather than enjoyed. I love knowing that when I hold my hand out a certain way, Leory will trot up to slip his nose against it, not only because he's clever and knows what the gesture means, but also because he's always waiting for that moment, watching for it. I love having a dog who can catch a treat midair.

I like having a companion animal who lives up to his name, by gosh, and I'm off to uphold my end of the companioning right now. Good night.